


Til Dawn

by alex_kade



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Sacrifice, Whump, but that's why we love him, ezra is a brave fool, i beat up literally everybody in this one, just one big m7 whumpfest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:48:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25625449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alex_kade/pseuds/alex_kade
Summary: OW: Everyone's hurt and poor Ezra's the only one fit enough to watch over them all...
Kudos: 33





	Til Dawn

"You all right, Ezra?" JD asked softly.

"Quite fine, Mr. Dunne, now go back to sleep," Ezra assured him, and smiled when the kid easily complied.

Truth be told, he wasn't all right, not at all. He was freezing, felt ill, his leg hurt terribly, and to be completely honest with himself, he was terrified. It was late in the fall season, much too early for any signs of winter snow, but far too late to be stranded out in the middle of the desert at night. Yet there they all were, huddled up in the mouth of a cave, hurt and with only a con artist raised in the cities of the warm south to keep them alive. He did what he could for them, tended to their various injuries to the best of his ability, made sure they each had their bedrolls, saddle blankets, and any spare clothing he could find tucked around them. He had sacrificed any supplies he might have used for himself to make them more comfortable – he wouldn't be needing them. It was his full intention to sit by the fire at the cave's entrance and protect his friends from any unseen foes that may be lurking in the night. He kept his guns ready, keeping one eye on the darkness outside the range of light provided by the flames, and one eye on his sleeping charges. Nothing would come near them, not while he was still strong enough to fight.

He wondered how long that would last, exactly. What medical supplies he could dig up from Nathan's bag had all been used to patch up the more serious wounds of his companions, along with the alcohol from his personal flask. With nothing else to use, he had bound up his own injury with Buck's less-than-sanitary bandanna, but it would have to hold until at least one of the others was fit enough to take over as sentry. In the meantime, he would just have to ignore the fact that he was sick and in pain, that he knew he wasn't getting enough food or water. They needed it more than him. They were more injured than him.

And it was his fault, anyway.

He had been running his mouth, as usual, trying to impress his three new opponents at the poker table. They had spoken of mining in the area and he had immediately regaled them with tales of his own successful exploits. They had seemed amicable enough, laughed with him at the proper moments, listened in wonder at others. He, of course, had spun his tale with a bit more flavor than the truth actually held, and they had hung on his every word. They shook his hand when they finally cleared the table late in the evening, seemingly unmindful and utterly unrepentant about the money they had just lost to him. Rejoicing in his gains from the pleasant company, the gambler had gone out for a short stroll to wind down before retiring for the evening.

That was when they grabbed him.

He quickly learned that his new "friends" had just been recently conned into purchasing a mine several miles outside of town. Thus far, they had been unlucky in finding the mine's potential riches and blamed it on their own lack of expertise. They took coming across Ezra and his "wealth of knowledge in the field" as a signal to them that their luck had changed. Desperate and frustrated, they had dragged the protesting gambler all the way out to the cave and demanded he find them something of value immediately. If he didn't, they would simply blow the mine - with him still in it. He made a fair attempt to inform the gentlemen that they had been had, that this cave held nothing more than rock and perhaps some quartz, but they refused to believe him. Having no other choice, he set off into the darkness and pretended to inspect the walls for veins, all the while trying desperately to come up with a plan that wouldn't result in his premature death.

Two hours later, and farther in the depths of the rock tunnels than the Southerner was comfortable with, all his unsuccessful planning was made unnecessary. He didn't know how, but the other lawmen of Four Corners had discovered his predicament and had come for him. Unfortunately, the rescue had not gone according to plan. Panicked, the three mine owners opened fire on the peacekeepers, forgetting about the explosives they had rigged around the cave. Ezra tried to warn both sides in the conflict of the potential dangers, but with the gunshots echoing around the cavern they couldn't hear him. To make matters worse, unarmed as he was he couldn't even aid in the shootout. Instead, he did the only thing he could think of that might be of service – he began dislodging the explosives and hastened to move them deeper into the mine, keeping himself glued to the walls so he could move past the shooters undetected. He heard Josiah start to call out to him, but his words were cut off abruptly as a bullet found its mark. The cardsharp hesitated for a second, but shook his head, knowing Nathan would reach the preacher. He kept his head low and carefully snuck another rigged bundle of dynamite down the narrowing tunnel. On his fourth trip back, he tried to get a quick count of the gunmen and determined there were two of the three of his kidnappers still standing. They knew the cave better than the members of his own unlikely band of rescuers and so they were the ones still holding the advantage. Adding credence to that thought, there were now only three guns firing back from Larabee's side of the conflict, and Ezra wondered who else might have been injured. Sticking close to the shadowed wall, he sought out the last explosive that would pose a problem for them and carefully made his way with it towards where he thought the fallen miner might be. Groping around in the minimal light, he managed to locate the man's leg and reached up the body until the found the hand holding the pistol. Gripping it, he stood quickly and shouted at the other two to stop firing. When they didn't immediately follow his order, he stepped into the lamplight and pointed the gun at the bundle of dynamite, threatening to blow them all to hell if they didn't put down their weapons.

"Ezra, what are you doing?" Larabee barked.

"Mr. Larabee. I strongly advise you and the rest of our compatriots to exit back the way you came. I have everything under control here."

"Like hell," he heard Tanner grunt.

"You won't blow that with your friends still here," one of the miners said.

"Which is exactly why I'm asking them to kindly _get out_ ," Ezra insisted.

There was a shuffle of noise behind him and the sound of a hammer being pulled back in front of him. He instantly shifted his aim and fired towards the sound of the gun, smiling when he heard a cry followed by a satisfying thud. His satisfaction quickly waned when he heard the sounds of footsteps running away further down the mine, exactly towards the area where he had stashed the rest of the dynamite. He didn't know whether the last gunman would try anything, but with his companions dead and no chance of him getting away without doing jail time, Ezra didn't like the odds of the man coming out peacefully.

"Run!" Standish yelled to his friends, taking only a second to lay down the dynamite he still held in his hands. Whatever urgency they must have heard in his voice did the trick and he was thankful to hear them all in various stages of retreating from the cave. Without being able to really see, he moved quickly towards the exit and only hoped that they were following suit.

The explosion came much too quickly.

The ceiling began to come down on them almost instantly, raining rock and timber from failing support beams onto them as they fled. Ezra could just barely make out the light peeking through from the entrance before he was knocked to the side by one of the beams. Someone cried in pain, someone else called out to him, something loud cracked overhead, and another bundle of dynamite blew somewhere back behind them before everything went totally dark.

He didn't know how long he had been unconscious before he woke to find himself coughing dust out of his lungs. Sunlight from the brightening morning was making a valiant effort to penetrate the fog of dirt particles that floated through the dark cavern. Ezra tried desperately to make his eyes adjust enough to seek out his friends, but all he could see were piles of rock and wood strewn about, and himself half-buried under rubble. Working quickly, he began to push the rocks off his body and was nearly freed when he came to the splintered section of wood lying across his leg. It wasn't big enough to pin him down by any means, but he hesitated to move it when he realized that it had shaved a portion out of his shin and was jutting out from beneath his flayed flesh. With no help in sight, he closed his eyes and slid the wood out of its gruesome position, tossing it aside and falling back as he swallowed down the cry that threatened to burst from his lungs. Once he had his breathing under control, he used his cravat to temporarily hold the loose piece of flesh and muscle in place while he limped off in search of his friends.

One by one, he dug them out, each time holding his breath until he determined that they were still miraculously alive. He dragged each of them close the cave entrance, taking just enough time to staunch any serious bleeding wounds before he set off in search of another of his friends. Once they were all safely away from the still crumbling areas of the mine, he set to properly tending their injuries. Nathan had already thankfully wrapped up the gunshot wound to Josiah's arm, but aside from the fact that it had reopened and was bleeding through the bandages, the preacher also sported a nasty gash on the side of his head. Vin had been the other man inflicted with damage from a bullet, his having gone clean through his thigh, and it was obvious the man had more than one damaged rib. Buck, also sporting bruises evident to a busted ribcage, had a broken wrist and a nice goose egg on the back of his head. Chris was bleeding profusely from a cut above his left eyebrow, and the right eye was already swollen shut. There was a growing bruise on the gunslinger's lower back that had Ezra concerned, but there was not much he could for that particular injury. JD had a broken ankle, a long gash running up one arm, and most likely a broken nose. Nathan had the Southerner extremely worried when he was found impaled through the shoulder with a shaft of wood. Ezra had to ease him off the makeshift spear before he could haul him out to join the others, and that wound took the longest for him to clean out and stitch up. He did what he could for all of them, using what he learned from the many times he had been forced to patch himself up after con jobs gone wrong, and from the far too many times he had watched Nathan utilize his healing techniques on the members of the seven peacekeepers. He only hoped that when he was through, it had been enough, because he was out of medical supplies and had no intention of leaving any of them long enough to retrieve more. They were all quite unconscious, and he would not abandon them when they were so vulnerable, especially not since they were all in their sorry states because he couldn't learn to shut up like they had told him to time and time again.

So instead he waited and cared for them and hoped that some of them would soon heal enough to guard the others while he went in search of help. The day dragged on into night and still none of them so much as stirred except to shiver when the temperature began to drop. It had taken longer than he would have liked for Ezra to gather the necessary supplies to build a decent fire, his progress hampered by his own injury that he had only paid enough mind to rewrap with Buck's bandanna when his cravat had soaked through. Once that was done, he had tucked the extra bedrolls and saddle blankets from the miners' horses around Nathan, Vin, and Josiah, who seemed to be the most affected by the cold and by their injuries; and had bundled his own vest and coat around JD just because the kid had looked a little chilled. Chris and Buck were nestled between the others for body heat, and Ezra stayed on the outskirts. He needed the cold to keep him awake, and with nothing on but his torn dress shirt that wasn't too hard to accomplish. He was miserable and he wanted it that way.

The sun, which had taken much too long in the gambler's opinion to make the first signs of its appearance, brought some much-needed warmth to his body. Due to the stiffness from both the cold night and his throbbing leg, it took him a few false starts before he was able to get up and go about doing what he could for nourishment. Throwing a few more sticks onto the fire he had kept going all night, he set about brewing some coffee in hopes that the smell would rouse some of his patients. JD was the first to finally come to, followed soon by an unusually vocal Vin as he tried to sit up too fast. Water was the first thing Ezra forced into them, only allowing them coffee once he was satisfied they could keep down the clear liquid. He gave them each a biscuit before moving to check on his other friends, pleased with how their various wounds looked but still concerned that they hadn't woken up yet. JD had asked him a few questions as he worked about what had happened and how the others were doing and about the cardsharp's obvious limp.

"Just a scratch," Ezra had answered with an easy smile. He didn't know whether the young sheriff had believed him or not, but it didn't matter as the kid soon succumbed to the sleep that would once again pull him away from the pain of his injuries. The tracker watched Standish critically for a bit longer before he, too, fell back into a healing slumber. Nathan woke some time later and was able to carry a brief discussion with Ezra about the various injuries. The ex-slave complimented the Southerner, a rarity Ezra was incredibly thankful for, and assured him that he had done everything as well as could be expected in their current situation. The conman had naturally left out the details of his own state of unhealth, and for once the healer was too oblivious to notice anything was wrong. In a bit of a role reversal, Ezra had to heatedly coax Nathan into consuming some water and a bit of food before he was allowed to finally go back to sleep. The gambler smiled slightly at the thought and wished he had had some of Nathan's teas to pour down the man's throat. Perhaps then he wouldn't be so quick to force the brews upon them at every sniffle if he knew how truly bad the concoctions were…

Ezra shook away the daydream and went back out to gather more supplies for the night he knew would come too soon. He would have to go further than he was comfortable with to get wood, so he had checked the weapons they had left and loaded one of the guns for JD. Thankfully, the kid responded almost instantly to Ezra's touch and promised he would stay awake during the time it took for the Southerner to get what was needed. The gambler hadn't gone far before his leg gave out from under him, and he lay still, panting and sweating for who knew how long before he was able to force himself to a sitting position. Rolling up his pant leg, he cringed at the red skin peeking out from around the edges of the dirty bandanna.

"One more night," he told himself, confident that at least JD would be capable by the next morning of watching over the other five until Ezra could get help from town. Vin would probably be all right enough to at least offer some passing company to the young sheriff, if not outright assistance. "One more night," he repeated again, willing himself to finish the task he had set out to accomplish.

Upon his return to camp he let JD go back to sleep as he went about preparing what little they had for dinner, mostly some dried beans and hard tack, but it would have to do. He knew he was in no shape to go hunting for wild game and there wasn't enough water left to properly clean and cook raw meat, anyway. JD and Vin ate readily enough once he succeeded in waking them, Nathan was a bit more reluctant but forced himself to get a little down, and Standish was pleased to have the other three finally come around enough to take some water. Buck actually opened his eyes for a bit in order to ask about JD, who answered for himself, bringing a smile to the ladies' man's face before he passed back out. The sun had begun to set a couple hours later and Ezra used the last of his daylight to make sure the boys were all thoroughly bundled up again for the evening.

He reacquainted himself with the boulder at the mouth of the cave he had spent the last night on, feeling decidedly weaker than he had when he had last sat there. Part of it was from lack of sleep and too little food and drink, he knew, but he also knew a great deal of it had to do with the leg he knew was infected. The cold bit through his clothing and he shivered despite the heat of the fever that had been slowly building throughout the course of the day. Lost in his misery and the inner mantra he repeated to reassure himself he just had to make it through until morning, JD's sudden inquiry regarding his health had startled him. After he insisted the boy go back to sleep he reprimanded himself for being so easily caught off guard, and took to pacing back and forth in front of the fire so he wouldn't fall asleep. Hobbling was actually more like it, nearly dragging the enflamed leg behind him as he stepped along. He kept it up for an hour before his body said no more and he stumbled down into the dirt. With a quiet, frustrated cry, he flipped himself over and dragged himself back up onto his boulder, leaning his head against the cool cave wall.

"'Call me Ishmael. Some years ago- never mind how long precisely- having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world….'"

He recited the words of "Moby Dick" from memory as best he could to keep himself awake. By the time morning finally hit, the story had fallen horribly out of order and his eloquent speech had transformed into a gross rolling of slurred syllables. It had worked, however, and he smiled slightly at his triumph when the sunlight hit his face.

"JD?" he called without turning to look inside the cave. He waited until he heard someone stirring behind him before he called again. "JD, are you awake?"

"Nah, Ez, he's still out," Vin mumbled.

Ezra swallowed the dry lump in his throat. "Mr. Tanner, do you think perhaps you can wake him? I need at least one of you to stand guard over the others while I head back to town."

"Hell, I'm awake enough to handle that. Let the kid sleep a bit," the tracker said, his voice noticeably stronger.

The gambler nodded his head against the rock wall he was still leaning on. "Your guns are all loaded and close by if you need them," he said before stealing himself for the effort to stand.

"What, no more fancy coffee a' yours before ya head out?" Tanner joked.

"No more water," Ezra informed him apologetically as he pushed away from the wall. He took one step before he dropped heavily to the ground.

"Shit, Ezra," Vin cursed and struggled to free himself from his bedroll. It was a struggle to gain his own feet with the stitches in his leg and the cracked ribs, but he managed to limp his way over to the Southerner and slide down beside him. Standish stared up at him with slightly glassy eyes, his face pale but his cheeks flushed. Tanner put a hand to the gambler's face and cursed again.

"Hell, you're burnin' up. Why didn't ya say nothin'?" he admonished.

Ezra pushed the hand away and made an attempt to sit up. "I have to go get help," he muttered.

"Not like that, ya ain't," Vin said. "You'd fall off the damn horse before you got to town."

"No," the gambler said forcefully and struggled to his feet. "I can make it. I'm the only one-"

His uncooperative leg worked against his claims and he went down again with a gasp. He pounded his fist on the ground in anger at his failure to do this one simple thing for his friends. He had told himself over and over again that he just had to make it through the night, but forgot to remind himself to save something for the morning's ride out. Now they had no more water, no one to collect more fire wood, and nobody well enough to go back into town. They would probably all die out there and it was because of him.

Someone else was calling his name, someone besides Vin. He focused on the voice and JD's face came into view.

"I can ride," he was saying. "I'll need help mounting with my ankle bein' busted and all, but other than that, I feel fine. I can get to town, Ez." The Southerner started to shake his head, but the young sheriff laid a gentle hand on his too-warm forehead. "You already did all the hard stuff, savin' everyone's lives and all. Don't you want a break from all that menial labor?"

Ezra snorted out a little laugh and, after a second to think on it, he nodded his head. In a clumsy, awkward maneuver, JD and Vin were able to get the conman into JD's bedroll before he lost his fight with the conscious world. Their struggles had woken up Buck and Nathan, both of whom were alarmed at the state their caretaker had fallen into.

"Help me over there," Nathan asked, struggling to sit up.

"I don't think you should be movin'," JD said hesitantly.

"From the looks of 'im, Ezra shouldn'ta been takin' care of us for however long we've been out here," Buck pointed out. "Least we can do is help Nate take a look at 'im."

They shuffled around so the healer could slide in beside Ezra and he quickly located the source of the Southerner's fever. He hissed as he peeled the bandanna off the festering wound.

"Oh god," JD exclaimed, turning away. "Nathan, he's not gonna, you know, _lose_ it is he?"

The healer's silence had all heads turning towards him at once. He kept his gaze firmly down at the unconscious man who he had so often thought of as being mostly self-serving. Now the conman lay in front of him in very real danger of losing not only his leg, but his life if they didn't treat him soon enough; and all because he had expended all his supplies and energy taking care of the rest of them, ignoring his own suffering.

"He'll be fine," a hoarse voice croaked out from the other side of Buck. Chris pushed himself up on his elbows, his face a mask of pain as he pulled on his back. Despite the injuries, however, there was a familiar fire in his eyes. "Someone get to town, now. Bring back whoever you can so we can all get the hell out of here."

"I was already gettin' ready to," JD informed him.

"Then get going," Chris ordered.

Buck had managed around his wrist enough to help Vin get JD up on his horse, but the effort pulled horribly on his ribs, and that coupled with the vertigo caused by the concussion had him quickly lying back down. Nathan was having a hard time staying awake as he hovered over Ezra, feeling utterly helpless at his own weakness and the lack of the things required to treat the infected leg in any fashion. Vin placed a hand on the healer's shoulder.

"You should rest up, Nate. Can't do nothin' for 'im now, and he's gonna need ya ready to fix 'im up when we get back home."

"What he needs is a real doctor," Nathan sighed. "I don't even have both my arms to work with."

"You're better than ya give yourself credit for," the tracker told him.

Nathan shook his head. "Not tryin' to get down on myself, just bein' realistic. It's not much further to Eagle Bend from here than it is to town. I think if there's any hope of savin' that leg, we better get him to the doctor over there."

"Take me with him," a deep voice grumbled from the far end of the cave.

"About time you woke up," Larabee huffed at the preacher.

The gambler stirred in the bedroll and opened one eye. "Everyone's awake?" he questioned weakly.

"And feelin' pretty good, considerin', thanks to you," Nathan assured him, and was rewarded with a small smile.

"Did a damn good job, Ezra," Chris praised, "but we'll handle the rest. Your only job now's to get better, you hear me?"

The Southerner lifted his hand and gave the gunslinger his token salute, which seemed to use the last of his energy. He let the arm fall beside his face as he slid back into unconsciousness and Nathan immediately tucked it back beneath the blanket.

Only Vin was still awake by the time JD returned with seemingly half the town in tow, all ready to lend a hand to their resident peacekeepers. There were some arguments over who would go to which town, but in the end it was decided Nathan would have to accompany Vin, JD, and Buck back to Four Corners. They still needed someone to doctor their wounds and, in turn, they would help him out with his own. Josiah was going to Eagle Bend not so much because he had insisted, but because Nathan wanted the doctor to inspect his rather serious head wound, as well. Chris was going with Ezra. There would be no arguing with him.

Despite protests, Mary had volunteered to drive the wagon that was hauling the gambler and his two guard dogs to Eagle Bend. She had made a claim along the lines of wanting to get the story of the daring rescue and the Southerner's bravery, but really she was doing a favor for Nathan. He had discreetly asked her to keep Chris's temper in check if she had to, knowing the gunslinger would never willingly allow the doctor to do what might need to be done to save Ezra's life. She assured the healer that if it came to that, she could control Larabee's anger. She only hoped she felt as confident about that as she outwardly appeared.

The ride into town was uncomfortably quiet. For the most part the men just slept through the night, Chris and Josiah waking up on occasion to coax some water down the Southerner's throat. Ezra, for his part, seemed to just sleep rather peacefully despite the infection that raged war against his body. He was simply too exhausted to even be plagued with the unsettling dreams that normally accompanied a high fever.

Once at the doctor's office all semblance of peace disappeared. The three patients were laid out beside one another, Josiah and Chris both flanking their oblivious friend, and both refusing any sort of treatment until Standish was seen to. The doctor took one look at the infected leg and immediately asked for a bone saw. The gunslinger took offense to the doctor's call and pulled his gun from seemingly out of nowhere, leveling it at the doctor's knee.

"Sir, this wound is terribly infected," the doctor tried to reason.

"You hardly looked at it," Chris argued.

"Mr. Larabee, if I don't remove the leg, your friend will die."

Chris stared at him casually for a second before responding. There was no malice in his tone, no hint of a threat. He simply and calmly spoke a given truth. "You take his leg, I'll take yours."

Josiah had kept his eyes shut throughout the entire exchange and he breathed out a sigh. "I suggest you try a little harder to clean up that wound, son," the preacher warned.

The doctor swallowed and waved away the bone saw, instead picking up a scalpel. Chris's gun never wavered the entire time Ezra was being worked on, only dropping it down beside him on the bed once the last bandage was taped in place. Josiah had long since succumbed to his concussion, and the doctor swiftly moved on to him next. It hadn't taken nearly as long to properly tend to the preacher's wounds – Ezra had done a good job with his limited supplies. The gunshot wound would heal just fine with no lasting repercussions, and since the preacher seemed to have his wits about him, the head trauma was less of a concern than they had all previously thought. He would just have to be monitored closely for a bit until the dizziness went away. When the doctor finally began to administer to Chris's various injuries, the gunslinger reluctantly admitted that he didn't seem to have full feeling in his legs. He was relieved when he got the news that the bruise was most likely just causing some swelling and he would probably regain mobility with several days' rest. _Probably._ The gunslinger shrugged it off, figuring there was no sense worrying over it until he knew for sure either way. His biggest concern at the moment was the man lying in the bed beside him, the man who hadn't stirred once during the long hours it took for the medical staff to tend to all their injuries. If he didn't show any signs of improvement by morning…

"Chris?" It was Mary's voice. He turned to look at her and she smiled encouragingly at him. "You should get some sleep," she requested.

He turned back to Standish and shook his head. "I'm not letting that man cripple him."

"I'll watch over him," Mary assured him, not quite ready to have _that_ conversation just yet. She would give the gambler one more night, just one, to see if his condition improved. If not, she'd tell the doctor to do what was needed and she would be the one bearing the gunslinger's wrath, the one to take the responsibility of allowing a friend to be disfigured for life. That was fine, she thought. It would be better for her to accept that than allow Larabee to take the full weight of the decision on his shoulders. She would not allow that man to blame himself for what may come, not again.

But that could all wait. Ezra could make it through the night yet. The proper gentlemen he relayed on the outside masked the rabid fighter that lay within, a stronger man than she would have thought possible when she had first met him. He lived up to his reputation as a deceiver, and perhaps this time, he had managed to unconsciously deceive the doctor. Maybe, just maybe, tomorrow would reveal the con. He just had to make it through the night…

And make it he did. The doctor had returned just after first light to check on his patients and was amazed to find that the Southerner's fever had actually lowered some. The leg still looked frighteningly inflamed, but the stitched flesh had managed to remain clean and relatively dry over night.

"I'll be damned," he muttered. "I don't know how this is possible. I was certain gangrene would have begun to set by now."

Chris smiled from his bed. "Nice work there, doc."

The man shook his head. "As much as I'd like to take the credit, this wasn't just my doing. How did you know he'd be able to fight back the infection?"

"Gave him an order, he aimed to follow it," Chris shrugged.

The doctor looked at him with a mixture of shock and confusion that brought laughter to both Josiah and Mary. The gambler merely slept on, a contented smile touching the corners of his lips.

A little over a week later, seven men sporting white bandages, casts, and canes milled around in front of the saloon. None of them spoke, simply sat enjoying each other's company and the unusual warmth in the fall air. Ezra paused his game of solitaire, noticing the way in which the young sheriff had begun to fidget in his seat.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Dunne?" he asked.

"I was just thinkin' about that article Mary wrote," he said cryptically.

"Yeah, she talked you up real good," Buck smiled, slapping the gambler gently on the back.

"She was a bit overly generous in her depiction of the events," Ezra responded, ducking his head in a display of discomfort over receiving such praise.

"Seemed pretty accurate to me," Nathan cut in, partially because it was true and partially because he was enjoying seeing the embarrassed flush creep up the gambler's neck.

"Well, you know how people love new gossip," Standish said by way of hoping to deflect the attention off himself. "Some new, exciting event will occur and the story of my supposed heroics will soon be forgotten."

"Not by us," Tanner said with a sly little wink.

"Damn right," Chris mock-snarled. "Do anything that stupid again and I'll let 'em take your damn leg."

"Oh, I assure you Mr. Larabee, my self-sacrificial actions are not ones I will be repeating in the foreseeable future. The next time we are all in danger of stepping into the great hereafter, you gentlemen will just have to rely on your own ingenuity." He let out an exaggerated sigh before continuing. "Sadly, I fear some of you may be lacking in that field."

"Which of us is he talking about?" Josiah asked with a grin.

"Not me," Buck stated confidently. "When it comes to escapin' trouble, ingenuity just happens to be my middle name."

"That why you came crawling to me to hide your sorry ass from Mr. Bowen the other day?" Chris asked.

"Hell, Chris, I got broken ribs and a busted wrist. Can't expect me to be on my game just yet."

"That's the problem," JD blurted out before anyone could respond with a snide comment to Buck's excuse.

"What's the problem?" Ezra asked.

"Well, I was thinkin' on that article like I said, and then I was thinkin' on who else maybe read it and how everybody knows that we're all hurt. We're _all_ off our game, so what happens if someone comes to try to rob the bank or somethin'?"

The young sheriff was suddenly pelted with a stream of curses and a few bits of food and even a couple tiny rocks scooped off the ground.

"What?" he hollered. "It's a…a…" he looked to the Southerner for assistance.

"Legitimate concern?" Standish offered.

"Yeah, that's it. It's a legitimate concern. What do we do if somethin' happens?"

Ezra scooped his cards up and slid them into his pocket before using his stylish cane to push himself to his feet. "As I pointed out, I have already met my quota on heroic deeds for the time being. Should any miscreants choose to raid our quaint little burg while I'm still recuperating, I'll leave them in your capable hands. Good day, gentlemen."

With a tip of his hat and a gold-toothed smile, he limped down the boardwalk towards the livery. JD turned towards the others with a questioning look, finding they were having a difficult time maintaining eye contact with him. Tanner was the next to bail, taking off gingerly in the same direction as Ezra, catching up to him quickly enough. Josiah and Nathan shared a look and, with an apologetic shrug, got up and shuffled towards the church. Buck glanced at Chris and none-too-subtly bolted into the saloon.

"Chris?" the young sheriff asked.

The gunslinger shrugged. "Like Ezra said, ingenuity."

With that, he shoved himself up on his own cane and gimped after Buck, leaving a flabbergasted JD behind.

"Ah, it'll be fine," the kid said to himself, waving his arm as if to wave away his concerns. Today was a beautiful day, a healing day, not a day to be worrying about the 'what if's' of the world. If anything should happen, it could happen tomorrow. All they had to do was make it through one more night.

_**The End!** _


End file.
